A Reunion + Some Accidental Cookies

Well, a miracle occurred at our house two weekends ago in the form of a family reunion that none of the people involved could have ever imagined.  It's not really my story to tell & I'm not big on giving up anyone's privacy, so I'll keep it simple: after 50+ years JP reunited with all of his remaining sibliings. 

It was as momentous as it sounds.  Think Hallmark movie or one of those shows where some investigative people find longlost relatives.  Exactly like that.  How this all played out could truly be a television show except that no one who is involved is interested in that sort of thing.  They are together now; that is enough.

So what do you do when three almost strangers fly in from around the country with no plans other than to spend time together and get to know each other after 50+ years?  You sit together in the family room for many hours and everyone gets comfortable and then you talk and listen and tell stories and you cry a lot.  Of course, I took my nervous energy and applied it to keeping everyone well-fed. They thought I'd done too much but they're new around here and haven't yet learned enough about me to know it's what I do - there's no changing that.  If you are here, I will feed you.  

I'm going to pat myself on the back a little bit here because of the part I played in this story.
I am a wife who is in love with her husband and since the first day we were together I knew something big was missing in his life.  Turns out that missing thing was his entire family.  For a lot of complicated reasons, he was not ever able to find them for all these decades and I had even spent a ton of my own time over the years trying to find out something, anything...to no avail.  Until I convinced him to use the two DNA kits (Ancestry & 23andMe) I bought for him, figuring hey, why not give this a try?  The rest, as they say, is history.  

You can never know how happy your heart can be until you see one of the people you love most in the world embracing the siblings he never thought he'd see again...that he hasn't seen in decades...and filling that big, empty void.  

God is so good.

As an aside, I would be remiss if I didn't mention how good it feels for me to have people in my life again that I can call family.  

As part of the "well-fed" mentioned above, I made a lot of food including these French Chocolate Chip Cookies.  

The reciped is adapted from the traditional Hershey's Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe; I just made it my own by using the far superior French flour and by omitting (by accident) the white sugar that the Hershey's recipe calls for in addition to the brown sugar.  I don't like overly sweet desserts to begin with and almost always reduce the sugar in most recipes...so by mistakenly omitting the white sugar, these wound up being a very happy accident.  Everyone loved them, so the proof is in the...cookie love.

For the record, I use Hershey's dark chocolate chips from BJs, which are larger than the ones you get in regular grocery stores.

If you're interested, here's some information on Why French Flour Is Better Than American Flour.

(It's not just French flour; European flours on the whole are far superior.  I also use Italian flour.) 

Still Winter Cranky + Trying Not To Be A Germophobe + Jeepsy

Remember about a month ago, when I last posted and said that I was "Winter Cranky".

Well, I still am.

Only it might be worse than it was a month ago and here's why:

Unbelievably, after having the flu in December that ruined the holidays and dragged on for more than two weeks, I got sick again in January. 
It started off as a head cold and quickly morphed into a raging sinus infection that still won't quit, two weeks later.

This picture of me shows you how I've been feeling thanks to my sinuses.

I am not a good sick person.  I don't like to sleep, I don't like to be idle, I don't like feeling like crap. I become excessively irritable and snappy, and my already overly impatient personality goes Defcon 1.
I can handle 1-2 days of being sick and then I am over it (mentally) so you can imagine my mood after being sick now for the better part of two months.  

To make matters worse, my anxiety-driven avoidant personality has kicked in and I have made the decision to not go out into public for the forseeable future.  Everyone seems to be sick and the CDC weekly sick map shows my area to be in the deep red, 'very high' status for flu and a bunch of other germ-y illnesses.  There were a few days where I was even freaking out if JP got too close to me, as if he were a 6'2" germ-ridden petri dish.

I can develop phobias within a matter of days and I recognized that my distress over being sick again was causing me to get a little bit germ-related hysterical and that if I didn't reel it in I was going to be in big trouble so that's what I've been doing as I very slowly heal from this sinus thing:  working on not being afraid of being near my husband who may or may not be carrying some germs. 

I still am resolute in not going out in public, though.  I wonder if that will turn into a phobia? 

I should mention that my extreme over-reaction to getting sick a second time is due in very large part to the fact that I became ill during the trauma anniversary of when my lungs collapsed in 2009.  Every year I struggle with that 10-day period (1/18-1/28) that is the anniversary of being in ICU, having a chest tube inserted without anesthesia, etc.  That event is a significant part of my C-PTSD; specifically the medical part of it.

Some years during those ten days I'm mostly a-okay; I just get quieter and keep things very low-key during those ten days because if I don't do that, things can spiral pretty quickly.  The big thing is being physically healthy during that time period so you can imagine the distress I felt when I got sick this year on 1/21.  Not good, not good at all.

But it's time to go forward now. 
Although the things I'm diagnosed with will often come up as I talk and write about my life, I try very hard to not make them the forefront of my life. 

One of the bigger parts of being sick in December and January is that I've only driven my new Wrangler - appropriately named 'Jeepsy' - a handful of times!  I got it in mid-December and then it was sickness, arctic cold, snowstorm, more arctic cold, sickness again.  

I was so hesitant about buying Jeepsy because I hate car payments and I mostly hate new cars with all their complicated bells & whistles. I still deeply regret selling my 2006 Jeep Grand Cherokee even though it was time to do so before it started to cost too much to maintain it.  But that 2006 vehicle was so not fussy and it had knobs instead of push buttons and I loved how uncomplicated it was.
JP, though, really wanted me to have Jeepsy and wanted to buy it for me for our anniversary.
Being that he works for a Jeep dealership he was able to get it at an amazingly low price so after a lot of back and forth I gave in and he went forward with buying it and the only thing that made me not hyperventilate about that purchase was that I knew we could always sell it if I hated it.

Well, I don't hate it.
In fact, I'm madly in love with it.  It's the fourth Wrangler I've owned and I'm really not sure why I've ever NOT owned Wranglers because they are my perfect vehicle. And while this one does have some bells & whistles, it still has knobs and the Wrangler feel.

Years ago I had an official license plate that read WNDRLST. I wanted to get that plate again for this Jeep but unfortunately Delaware has suspended custom license plates because some lady sued them and that lawsuit resulted in ruining it for everyone no one being able to get custom plates. 
So I did the next best thing and designed a custom front plate...

Also, did I mention how much fun it is to be back to doing the Jeep wave again?  

Winter Cranky

We finally had a real snowstorm on Monday 1/6 this week.

It snowed all day long which was nice and soft and pretty.  

JP wisely stayed home from work even though it only snowed about 2 inches in the northern part of Delaware where his job is.
We got 8-10 inches downstate where we live and the roads were unplowed and treacherous so going anywhere was really out of the question.

It's Thursday 1/9 as I write this and there's still 8 inches of snow on the ground. Nothing is melting despite days of blinding sunshine because it's freakin' freezing outside.

I am so over it.

I am snow over it.

I like snow on the day it snows. Then, on the next day, I like when it melts away.
I do not like blinding sunshine (in general) that does nothing more than magnifies the brightness of the snow and hurts my already sensitive eyes to the point where I can't leave the house; blinding sunshine should have one job after a snowstorm and that is to melt the snow away.  If it can't do that it's useless.

I am winter cranky - which is very unusual for me.   

It is supposed to snow again tomorrow into Saturday and the internet weather forecasters were initially calling for "epic snowstorm" and "a whopper of a snowstorm" but they have all now changed their clickbait tunes and have admitted that it's going to basically be a non-event, maybe an inch or two.

Fingers crossed.

Christmas Songs + An Anniversary

After a few cold days & nights we were gifted with a mild Sunday yesterday so we spent the day outside doing some decorating for Christmas.  The mild temperature continued into evening so we turned on the patio heater and sat around it with our wine glasses.

The sky was mostly clear, the quarter moon hanging over our heads, the brightness of Jupiter off in the distant sky. And it was oh so  blissfully quiet outside.

So, you know, kinda magical.

Out of nowhere I was compelled to start singing, quietly, Christmas songs.  The holy ones, which seemed appropriate for the night that surrounded us.  JP joined in and there we were, two crazies sitting outside on a cool December night, quietly singing Christmas songs together...on the weekend of our 15th wedding anniversary.  Under the moon and stars.  Talk about making memories.

Some people need the fancy stuff - expensive gifts, vacations, etc.  Not me.  I have everything I could ever want - and then some - with the guy who sits outside with me in almost winter, quietly singing songs.

Team Whole Berry

Journal 11.08.24

Journal 11.5.24

News From The Cul-De-Sac: Vol. 1

It currently feels kind of sad here.

There is a very obvious lack of it being the Halloween season.

Oh, there are pumpkins on porches, but even those are kind of minimum.

example of sparse display of pumpkin on porch decoration

No purple or orange light displays, no blow-ups, no 16-foot skeletons (thankfully), no other fun (non-scary) stuff.

Is everyone here a Jehovah's Witness?

Meanwhile, my Halloween stuff is sitting in a box in the garage because we are unsure if we'll be considered the heathen new neighbors if we decorate beyond the copious amount of pumpkins I've already put out around our property.  

Our new neighborhood could be considered upscale. Do upscale neighborhoods forego Halloween decorations? Is it considered gauche or classe inférieure?  Should I care*?

I needed answers/validation to this so I checked with JP's boss, who is very wealthy and lives in a very wealthy area. I doubted that he would put out blowups on the gazillion dollar lawn of his gazillion dollar mansion in his gazillion dollar neighborhood but I asked him anyway and he said, unsurprisingly, that he just pays people to put up lights and stuff, but no blowups and the like.  I told him about the lack of decorations here and he said, in essence, that if he had a bunch of blowups he'd put them out at his house and not care one bit what anyone thought (that's the nice version of what he actually said which was, to paraphrase, "who gives a !&*#$ what anyone thinks" - he's fun like that).  

For the record, we have one single blowup and it's completely not cheap or cheesy. It's fun and happy and unscary I love it very much.

This is a video of our Halloween decorations at our old not-very-upscale house in the not-very-upscale neighborhood we used to live in:

I'm putting it up today. 

Chances are, I'll even have a bunch of candy at the ready on Halloween just in case my tree blowup acts as a beacon that day for happy little trick or treaters.   

* no.

Journal - 10.1.24

North Carolina ♥

I can't stop thinking about western North Carolina - I've got a whole bunch of memories from that area since I spent half my childhood at my father's house in Pilot Mountain, an hour or so east of there.

There was one day that always stands out.

We went to Boone and Blowing Rock and every other place all around there.

We drove and drove and talked and talked - just me and my dad - and ate the pimento cheese sandwiches (my dad's favorite) we brought with us along the way.

We stopped at Mystery Hill - this really strange place where there's a gravitational pull that makes you stand crooked.

We went to Grandfather Mountain and I sat on the edge of a boulder, where I didn't realize at first that my feet were dangling over a God knows how many feet drop because the view of those mountains is so freakin' amazing it makes you lose your senses.

A million memories in that one day.

Anyway, sometimes a memory is even better when you can share it. These are some pictures of me from that day.

Pray for North Carolina

Mystery Hill

Today's Anti-Anxiety Watercolor 9.25.24

Alfajores + I ♥ Butter

You're thinking, is she really writing a post about butter, of all things?

Yes, I am. If you are new here then you haven't yet gotten to know that I'm a little bit left of center. I write about whatever I want,  especially stories/anecdotes from my life, thoughts in my weird head, and I really like adding a bit of my mediocre art for emphasis.  

But let's talk about butter...

For the past two weekends we have been going to the farmer's market in Berlin, Maryland - one of my most favorite places.  I was particularly excited to go there because I had recently discovered a business based out of Rehoboth Beach, DE - gather Alfajordes - and they are a vendor at the Berlin market (and several others in this area). I had never heard of alfajordes but based on the pictures and descriptions I knew I had to try these things.

The best way I can describe the alfajordes (traditional) that I purchase(d) from gather Alfajordes is to think of the the best possible shortbread cookies you could ever want to eat in your entire life. Now take two of them and put some dulce con leche inside and some finely powdered sugar on top so that you now have the best filled shortbread-type cookie you will ever eat in your entire life.  Yes, they are that good.  

There were two in this box but I ate the other one.

gather Alfajordes has a website that will make you want to hightail to the Delaware/Maryland shore areas to buy pretty much everything they sell. That's how I felt as I took in all that I saw on their website (and lucky for me, I live in their area) but there was one other thing on their website that jumped off the page and got my heart pounding:  French butter.

That's right, they sell French butter.  But not just any French butter! Oh no, the butter they sell is La Conviette and it comes in sweet little rolls that are rolled up Tootsie Roll style.  Sweet little French butter rolls, can you imagine anything better?!  

Do you know about French butter? Do you know that if you try French butter you will question what in the heck kind of subpar butter have you been eating all your life?  Maybe you've picked up some Irish or European butter that's in all the supermarkets now and you're thinking that you know what good butter is. You are wrong.  You are so wrong in your wrongness!  My apologies to Irish butter - and I'm an O'Brien - but it is nothing like the ethereal experience of French butter.  This particular butter, La Conviette, is delicate and creamy and there is something magical about its salt, which is like nothing I've ever tasted before.

...

I found this description of La Conviette on the internet: A premium French butter made from high-quality milk sourced from the Charentes-Poitou region of western France. This region is renowned for its rich and creamy milk, which is perfect for producing high-quality butter.

The butter is made using traditional methods, with the cream being churned in wooden barrels, which gives the butter its unique texture and flavor.

...

The only problem is that French butter is not so easy to come by and if you try to order it online you will find that it's probably sold out and that when it is available you are going to pay through the teeth to have it shipped to you.

You know what I say about that?  So what. Order it anyway because it is 1000% worth it. 

gather Alfajordes was out of the the butter initially but they told me they were awaiting a shipment that was coming from France and that I should watch their website where they would post that it was available for ordering once they received it.  I did exactly that and picked up my order in Berlin this past weekend.  The butter is now safely in my freezer where it will remain until I have some for my birthday in October. I'm going to order some more so that I have it on hand for the holidays.

Anyway, this whole recent butter buying thing got me thinking about where this butter love of mine came from and I was delightfully reminded of an event from my very early childhood...  

When It Began:  I have a very clear memory - age 3 or 4? -  of laying eyes on the container of Breakstone's Whipped Butter that was a staple in our house and whisking (no pun intended) it away to my secret lair under the tablecloth-covered kitchen table where I happily indulged in eating it straight out of the container until I was eventually stone cold busted.  I'm sure it was my sibling who ratted me out as my sibling looked for any opportunity to get me in trouble.

"Mom, Sharon's eating butter under the kitchen table"

Where It Continued:  Fast forward to spending my summer and Christmas vacations at my father's house in North Carolina (ages 7-15), where he lived in long-term sin with his girlfriend Alice, who had attended Le Cordon Bleu in Paris and who decided to teach me French cooking whenever I was in residence. 

This was the 70s and it was in Pilot Mountain, NC (Mount Pilor on the Andy Griffith show) and French butter was not something that could be purchased anywhere unless you hopped on the Concorde and did a quick round trip to France.  So lacking the money for Concorde airfare and a local source for many of the called-for ingredients in our French recipes, we made do with what we had. 

But Alice would regale me with stories about Paris and the Seine, about romance and exquisite meals and wine, and about baguettes and croissants and, of course, French butter in their humble little house with a perfect view of Pilot Mountain.  

Alice (& Dad, too, who just kind of went along with whatever she wanted) gave me French story books and French dictionaries and French language books and I fell in love with all things French in the very tiny town of Pilot Mountain, North Carolina, population 1,300.  It was Alice who introduced me to foods I'd never heard of in my other life at my mother's house in Elizabeth, NJ.  

My mother, who had zero interest in cooking, ate to live. Alice and my father lived to eat and it was because of them that I became a lifelong "foodie" - for lack of a better term - and a lover of high quality ingredients.  

Monsieur le Beurre

For fun, I did a Pinterest & Google search for 'butter tattoos' and the results did not disappoint. 

Imagine loving butter so much you would want it permanently inked onto your skin...

"Butter Me Up" tattoo by Meredith Little Sky of Terrarium Tattoo

Artist Unknown - if you know let me know

Further Reading:

We Tasted 13 Fancy Butters and This Is The Best One

French Butter: Better Than Other Butter?